


all i was really doing was waiting for you

by notavodkashot



Series: FFXV one shots [15]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 08:11:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17721449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notavodkashot/pseuds/notavodkashot
Summary: Nyx has never had a potential soulmate, and honestly, he's kind of resigned to never find one.Enter Cor. Literally. Through the window.





	all i was really doing was waiting for you

Nyx had just finished loading a crate of clean glasses under the bar when something, or rather, someone, came crashing through the window. It was a fairly spectacular crash, at that, taking down the stupid bamboo curtains Crowe had put up as her one contribution to the interior design, and two whole tables, which was about a third of all the tables they’d managed to cram inside the tiny space. Nyx peered over the edge of the bar and found a man sprawled on the cracked tiles of the floor, grinding his teeth and looking anything but pleased. Frankly, Nyx was legitimately impressed by the fact he wasn’t _dead_. 

“Are you alright?” Nyx asked, blinking even as his hand found the kukri he kept stashed under the edge of the bar because he was a paranoid idiot, as far as Selena was concerned. 

The man looked up at him, pale blue eyes flat and unimpressed, and snorted as he sat up with only a tiny wince. 

“No,” he said, and took a moment before heaving himself back up his feet and then summoning a sword into his hand with a disgruntled expression on his face. 

Crownsguard, then, Nyx thought and then realized there was loud screaming coming from the street. 

“Oh, you’re alive,” a woman said, poking her head through the hole the other man had left in the wall. Nyx was struck by the massively thick bottle-bottom glasses perched on her nose, making her eyes look almost cartoonishly huge. “I’ll add another peg to your tab. Are you coming or what?” 

The man rolled his eyes, looking rather put out. Which Nyx thought was lightly underwhelming considering by all accounts he should probably be dead. 

Or at least significantly incapacitated. 

Or _something_. 

“Evidently,” the man deadpanned, and then looked over his shoulder at Nyx, “excuse me.” 

And then he marched out the hole back into the street, without looking back once. 

“...seriously?” Nyx asked no one in particular, wondering what would be worse, going to the storeroom in the back and figuring out why Libertus had just totally missed the front of their bar getting totaled, considering Selena was supposed to be running inventory, or wait for him to come back on his own and deal with the inevitable freak out once he realized the front of their bar was absolutely _totaled_. 

“It’s okay,” the woman with the glasses said, grinning a wee bit too widely for Nyx’s tastes, waving a hand dismissingly at him. “It’s okay, he always pays for everything he breaks.” She gave the room a once over before shrugging. “It needed a bit o’a spruce up anyway.” 

Nyx decided, right there and there, as she ducked out of sight and went out to chase whatever was causing the panic outside, that he disliked her intensely and would be rather glad to never see her again for as long as he lived. The other guy too. Probably. 

Assholes. 

Everyone knew Crownsguards were dicks, anyway. 

...admittedly, he was rather glad to see them again when they came back some thirty minutes later, after the situation was under control – who the fuck had been the idiot who’d decided keeping fucking Arbas as pets was a good idea? Insomnians, really – because that was a lot of zeros in that invoice they gave him for the damages and he didn’t even have to argue about it. 

“Don’t give me that look,” the woman, Lyra, told him, eyebrows arched as she pushed her ridiculous glasses up her nose. “Can’t go around mistreating war heroes, now can we?” 

Nyx considered reaching for his kukris again. 

“How-” 

“Tattoos,” the man, who’d introduced himself as Cor, pointed out, dry and deadpan, as he studied the photographs of Libertus’ favorite patrons hanging off the wall. “Runner, right?” 

Nyx considered not hating them intensely, before he sighed, shrugging. 

“Yeah, from Anemoi,” he said, hands stuck inside the pockets of his jeans, “didn’t really need to do much fighting, though, once the King came through.” 

“That’s Reggie for you,” Lyra said, nodding. “Dependable.” 

“Debatable,” Cor snorted, seemingly mostly to himself, and then shrugged when he realized Nyx was sort of staring at him. “Again, apologies for the mess.” 

“Hey, maybe once you’re done unshitting your bar, we can drop by for a pint,” Lyra chirped gleefully, “toast to the fact no one actually died. Somehow.” 

“Sure,” Nyx replied, not quite convinced, “that’d be nice.” 

She grinned at him with far too many teeth for comfort. 

“Maybe share a few war stories, too, if you’re into that.” 

“Lyra,” Cor said, before she could step up into Nyx’s personal space too much. “Stop harassing the man. He’s got the compensation invoice, now let’s go.” He arched an eyebrow at her. “There’s more paperwork to file.” 

“Ugh, it’s like you have a fetish for that,” she said dramatically, tossing her head back and making the long rope of hair braided at the base of her skull swish dramatically in an extremely practiced gesture. Nyx caught a glimpse of withered purple flowers blooming along the back of her neck, right where her hair started. “We’ll be back, though!” 

Cor caught Nyx’s eye and twitched his head ever so slightly, as if to indicate this wouldn’t be the case, and Nyx found himself smirking at him, amused. 

Five minutes later, just as Nyx was done sweeping the brunt of the dust off the floor, Libertus came out the storeroom, face just the slightest bit flushed. Though he went pale pretty quickly once he took one good look at the place. 

“ _What the fuck happened to my bar?_ ” 

Nyx sighed. 

* * *

Renovations were hard work, mostly because that was more money that they’d made with the bar in an entire year and they didn’t want to squander it. Half of it went to buying the space from their landlord, which Selena managed with a smile and a soft voice that coincidentally failed to mention they had received compensation over the whole thing. She came home with the deeds and a smile, and Libertus kissed her hands, her mouth and her forehead, and then twirled her around, which of course only encouraged her to be even more cunning and sly than she already was. 

Nyx almost commented on it, but in the morning, one of Libertus’ pink lotus flowers was blooming right over her collar bone, and one of her purple asters was blooming over Libertus’, to match, and it felt wrong of him to say a thing. 

He wasn’t really mad, that his sister and his best friend were soulmates. He was glad for them, really. Libertus adored Selena and went soft and complacent, willing to give her anything she asked for, and Selena loved Libertus’ mind, all the sharp, pointy corners of it, and enjoyed getting lost in conversations that lasted hours. Every few months, new flowers bloomed on them, and Nyx was happy for them, happy that the vines on their skin were green and healthy, steadily growing with each passing day. 

Crowe liked to gag and roll her eyes at them; called them lovebirds and went sit with Nyx for a good sulk, so they could commiserate on their shit luck when it came to romance and the fact their siblings kept rubbing it in. Nyx let her, of course, because he loved her and she fit under the curve of his arm just as well as Selena did, but deep down he disagreed with her. Crowe complained because her vines had all withered in the end, each new breakup a new frustration that she didn’t want to look into too closely, because it hurt to think about. 

Nyx didn’t really know what that felt like, for all he’d gotten really good at being a soundboard to her frustrations, purely because Nyx had never found flowers painted on his skin, from one day to the next. 

He didn’t know what it felt like, to connect with someone that way, and then somehow have that connection unravel anyway. He supposed it was better, his lot than Crowe’s, at least… at least he’d never lost anyone he’d truly cared for. On the other hand… 

Well, on the other hand, it said something about him, didn’t it? It wasn’t like he’d never had lovers before. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to charm someone into following him home. But no one wanted to stick around, come morning, and he couldn’t really blame them. They had soulmates to find. He was just a roadblock in their way. Maybe a good story to tell, a pastime if nothing else. 

Crowe didn’t get it, but Nyx was not about to explain it. It felt silly to. So he just sat with her, in the aftermath of another breakup, and shared a drink and good food, and didn’t call it out when the good-natured ribbing about their siblings grew a tad too bitter for his tastes. 

Some people, Nyx reckoned, were just not meant to have a soulmate. 

* * *

Cor showed up one night, about three weeks after the bar reopened, and parked himself in a corner of the bar, mostly out of the way. 

“I see you’ve learned to use doors,” Nyx told him, in lieu of a greeting, as he delivered a mug of beer to the guy three seats right of him. 

“Less expensive, over all,” Cor replied with that dreadful deadpan of his. 

“Fair enough,” Nyx said, eyebrows arched, “what can I get you?” 

Cor stared up at him for a long moment before shrugging. 

“Whatever the house recommends?” 

Nyx considered for a moment, before he dropped a mug of Libertus’ signature brew in front of Cor. 

Cor became a regular, after that. 

He came in on Fridays, always after eleven, and sat in the end of the bar, leaning against the wall. He watched the other patrons almost as much as Nyx did, but didn’t start small talk with anyone _but_ Nyx. Their small talk was mostly deadpan jabs about the weather, Cor sitting in his corner sulking about work in nondescript detail and Nyx muttering about nothing in particular. Then it would be closing time, and Cor would finish his last drink, pay his tab, and walk out into the night with a little, almost absentminded wave. Sometimes he got a call, and he hissed at his phone and left early, but not always. 

It was… nice. 

Libertus liked Cor purely because he was quiet and tipped well and also because he was apparently some big shot in the Crownsguard and that meant their bar filled up with them every Friday. Nyx was ready to complain about it, except for the fact Libertus felt perfectly entitled to raise prices over it and suddenly… well, suddenly they were doing quite alright for themselves. 

Selena liked Cor purely because Nyx didn’t have anything overtly horrible to say about him, which she took to mean he was a decent sort of fellow and, well, Nyx didn’t immediately disagree. He was still deadpan and quiet, but he wasn’t rude to his sister, so Nyx hadn’t had to break a bottle on his head, as was his usual method of making people leave his sister alone. Which honestly, it was infinitely more humane than actually letting Selena voice her annoyance on her own. It was practically a public service he was performing. The one time he had to do that while Cor was sitting at the bar, Nyx remembered so only after giving a concussion to the git in turn, and he’d looked around to find Cor very pointedly not looking his way. 

“Terrible shame,” Cor muttered at him, words squeezed out of the corner of his mouth, which was decidedly twitching upwards, “about the accident.” 

That was when Nyx realized Cor was an asshole, yes, but also an asshole he could very easily call friend if he cared to. 

Two weeks later, watching Cor casually kick the chair under a drunken idiot spewing bullshit about Galahd, so his head ended up bouncing off the edge of the bar, tongue nearly bitten through, Nyx decided he did. 

* * *

Sometimes, Nyx invited Cor to stick around after closing, and it wasn’t much different except he didn’t have to keep his voice down when he talked to him. Cor stayed out of the way in his corner seat and shared funny deadpans while Nyx cleared the bar and served himself a few drinks while they kept arguing politics. It was fun to argue politics with Cor, it turned out, which wasn’t something Nyx had ever thought was possible. It wasn’t because Cor agreed with him, always, but rather because he listened to his gripes about this or that bits of news and rather channeled Nyx to make his arguments more pointed, less vague. 

Then Nyx would remember, in the middle of his hangover, the next morning, that Cor was some kind of big deal in the Crownsguard and when he played at politics, it actually mattered. He always thought about asking him about it, but never made up his mind. Besides, it was better to not think about that kind of thing. To enjoy Cor’s friendship and nothing more. 

Nothing more. 

“I am, in fact, a sham,” Nyx told Cor, one day, sometime after two in the morning, lying on his back along the bar, one leg curled over the other at the knee, as he stared emptily at the ceiling. 

“I’d say mostly you’re drunk,” Cor replied, because he was an asshole of unspeakable proportions, but Nyx was far too comfortable where he was, slowly melting into the solid surface of the bar, to really turn around and risk falling off to tell him so. 

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” Nyx muttered, looking sideways as far as he dared without feeling dizzy and found Cor with his arms folded on the bar, expression just as intense as always. “But I’m a fraud in tend baring. Baring tend. Tendering bar. Bar tending. Yes.” 

Cor smiled at that, Nyx noticed, and felt keenly disappointed by how… insignificant the gesture was. He always thought Cor would look very different, if he smiled. But it turned out he didn’t smile the way Nyx always imagined him to: it wasn’t wide or toothy or sly. Just a tiny twitch of his lips, a subtle curve that made his eyes a smidgen less intense and more… friendly. It was weird and not as impressive as he would have thought it would be. 

And then he realized the smile had stopped a while ago, as Cor’s lips wrapped around words he didn’t hear. 

“What?” Nyx asked, turning around to chase after the shadow of Cor’s smile and instead found himself rolling off the bar and into Cor’s arms. 

Nyx knew himself to be a not insignificant man, size-wise. He’d been positively tall, back home, except in Insomnia everyone was taller and wider, and maybe he shouldn’t feel slighted because Cor shuffled him in his arms until he was mostly sitting on his lap, despite the fact Nyx felt rather boneless at the moment. 

“I asked,” Cor said, eyebrows arched as he bundled Nyx into his arms like it was no big deal at all, “why are you a bar tending sham?” 

Nyx stared down at Cor – his eyes were really that blue, it turned out, even from up close, pale enough to look near transparent – swayed, realized he couldn’t fall, not with the way Cor was holding him in place, and laughed. 

“The menu is a lie,” Nyx chirped back, delighted for reasons he couldn’t quite articulate. “Can’t do shit from it, but no one orders from it, anyway.” 

Because, why would they? Libertus’ beer was the sum total of the reasons why people visited the bar in the first place. 

“Maybe I will,” Cor said, eyebrows arched in amusement, and Nyx conceded he might look a little silly, sprawled into the man’s arms the way he was. 

“Maybe you should,” Nyx replied, though that was an answer to a completely separate question that was very much not asked. 

It was okay, though, because he then proceeded to hurl and pass out, and when he woke up next morning, face buried into his pillow, he didn’t quite remember the slip. 

* * *

True to his word – he was always true to his word, to the last, terrible, deadpan consequence, Nyx had found – Cor started ordering items off the menu. In alphabetical order, too, so Nyx knew exactly what he was doing. He kept ordering the same drink, too, regardless of what a shit job Nyx did with it, until he seemed satisfied with it. It was the most work Nyx had done since agreeing to follow his sister out into Insomnia, so she and Libertus could open a bar. 

Nyx knew, deep down, they hadn’t come to Insomnia to open a bar because there weren’t places in Anemoi to open it. He knew. He’d always known. They’d come to Insomnia because that meant their bond would go untested, unchallenged by the storm. It was no coincidence their nineteenth flower bloomed before they packed up and set sail for the mainland. He also knew he was expected to disapprove of such things, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Libertus made his sister happy, they had flowers and vines on their skin, and that was enough. 

It was enough. 

Nyx had gotten so far as to H in the menu, over the course of eight months, and despite his best attempts, still couldn’t pinpoint a single trace of vines or petals on Cor’s skin. 

That meant nothing, of course, considering Cor didn’t exactly bare much skin, but the thought lingered, stubborn in the back of his head. It wasn’t… it wasn’t entirely unreasonable, after all. They’d known each other for a while. They got along surprisingly well. One needed to be blind to not think Cor was attractive, once one got close enough to ignore the frowns and the glares. 

He spent most days chewing on the thought, like it was a slice of sugar cane, back home, the sort that bled juice into his mouth and got spat out sideways once it was dry. But then, so too was the thought spat out, when it was time to shower and dress for the night, and he found himself staring at the vast, empty canvas that was his skin, and he remembered no flowers had ever grown there. 

Cor was hilarious in that stupid understated, deadpan way of his. He drank the shit Nyx threw together, until he was halfway decent at it, and he never, ever laughed at him. He had ridiculous insights into things and a habit to ask the right question at the worst possible time, and he was probably the first real friend Nyx had made, since he’d arrived to Insomnia. It wasn’t worth it, to risk that, on the barren wasteland he called a soul. 

“I’m sorry,” Cor told him, the night Lyra finally got around asking for that pint, mostly because she’d asked for seconds and then pulled Crowe into her lap and kept her there right up until she left, and Crowe had left with her. “She does that, sometimes.” 

Nyx laughed. 

“It’s fine, Crowe can probably handle it,” he said, trying to ignore the thought that, for all he’d considered, he’d never actually actively warned friends and family of Crowe’s flings, about the mess they were going to get themselves in. 

It seemed a little cruel, but then he remembered that he didn’t actually like Lyra at all, he’d declared it so, upon their first meeting, nearly a year prior. And Cor… well, Nyx trusted Cor’s judgment. He’d never been able to spy a shade of cruelty to Cor, so perhaps he had his reasons. 

The next morning, Crowe came home with what Nyx realized were actual opium poppies on her skin, and he didn’t say anything, because it’d been months since he’d seen Crowe’s eyes that bright. 

* * *

“They’ve made it past two months,” Cor said one night, as he tormented Nyx by ordering naked ladies with that stupid, insipid smile of his that nonetheless Nyx couldn’t stop wanting to bite off his lips. “That’s a record for Lyra.” 

Nyx could see how that would be the case. Lyra Argentum was exactly as off the walls insane as she first appeared to be, but Crowe seemed to be into that, so it was alright. Nyx wasn’t jealous, honest. Crowe deserved it. Probably in both meanings of the word. 

“They look happy,” Nyx said instead, because Crowe was his sister, more in-law than blood, maybe, but his sister anyway. 

“Everyone is,” Cor pointed out, but Nyx realized he wasn’t looking at Lyra on the other corner of the bar, tugging Crowe back into her lap again, “when they get what they want.” 

He was looking at him. 

Which, of course he was, Nyx immediately dismissed the thought. They were having a conversation. Of course Cor was looking at him. That was what people did, when they were having a conversation. That was how it worked. It was normal. 

It meant nothing. 

He just wanted it to mean something, because he was stupid enough to not let himself be resigned at the fact he was just going to be alone forever. 

And yet, what came out of his mouth, Nyx realized with horror, far too late to take the words back, was: 

“Must be nice, being wanted that way.” 

Cor looked like he wanted to say something, but Nyx realized there were mugs to be refilled on the other side of the bar, and insidiously but successfully switched places with Libertus – he didn’t remember when Libertus had taken over one half of the bar, and left Nyx free to chat up with Cor because Cor’s half of the bar was always stupidly, ridiculously slow. 

Nyx felt bad about that, later that night, as Cor sprawled a little more visibly against the bar, considering Libertus had switched him drinks midway, and apparently beer and naked ladies did not get along so well. 

“I do,” Cor said, suddenly, drunk and still deadpan, because of course he was, the insufferable shit, staring at Nyx as he wiped the bar clean. 

“What?” Nyx asked, and then took a sharp breath, because Cor caught his hand – like he’d meant to grab his wrist and missed – and he didn’t sound drunk, but he had to be, because he tugged Nyx closer. 

“Want you,” Cor said, flat and matter-of-fact, and then he tugged harder, and Nyx went, arching over the bar, because Cor whispered, “I do.” 

And then kissed him. 

It wasn’t the greatest kiss ever, objectively. Cor was drunk and there was a whole bar in the way and Nyx’s hand was still gripped in Cor’s awkward hold, but honestly. Honestly, Nyx could work with that. He was working with that, he realized, slowly climbing over the bar, drawn in, and Cor had fangs in his mouth, they caught the edge of his tongue, and Nyx wanted to find out what else they could get caught in, because. 

Well. 

“Nyx, have the fucking decency to have your goddamn fling in the storeroom, not my counter,” Libertus said, coming out the door behind the bar, “I serve food on that, sometimes.” 

That should have been the end of that, with Cor making a strangled, surprised noise in the back of his head, like he had forgotten the rest of the world existed at all, until forcefully reminded. With Nyx laughing, bent over the counter, hand still lost to Cor’s, face burning and lips bruised. That should have been enough to snap them back to reality, the reality where they didn’t kiss or want or do anything unwise. 

“Nyx,” Cor said, voice low, hoarse, and Nyx’s spine tingled with sparks, because he liked the way his name sounded on Cor’s tongue. 

He looked up at him for a moment, and realized reality wasn’t there just yet, not quite. He didn’t want to go back to it. 

“Okay,” he said, instead, and noted Libertus ignored them both, as Nyx tugged Cor along, hands still tangled on each other, around and under the bar, and through the door into the store room. “I-“ 

But then, the door was closed and Cor tugged at him, and the next thing Nyx knew his hand was finally free, but only because Cor needed both of his to haul him up against the door. Nyx dug his fingers into his hair, his back, and it still wasn’t the greatest kiss he’d ever had, because now there were clothes in the way, and he desperately needed them to not be. Cor wrapped an arm around his waist and clawed a hand at his knee, forcing Nyx to rest his weight on his back and curl his legs around the bulk of Cor’s frame. 

And he had fangs, and they caught on skin, and Nyx made a noise he hadn’t known he could make, every time they did. 

A cellphone rang, just as Nyx found the right angle to grind and his brain was catching up enough with him to point out if they walked past the storeroom and into the stairs, they could make it into his room, where he had a bed he’d like Cor to fuck him into. But then Cor stopped, abruptly, frozen in place as the second ring echoed their ears. 

“God fucking damn it, Regis,” Cor snarled into his phone, one hand digging into Nyx’s thigh, balancing him against the door, while the other held the phone up his ear. “ _What?_ ” 

Nyx couldn’t quite make out the words, but he saw Cor’s face close up, eyes shut and mouth pressed into a thin, angry line. 

“Fine,” he said, and hung up, shoving the phone back into his pocket as he stared up at Nyx with a frustrated look on his face. “I have to go.” 

Except he was not letting go of Nyx yet, not quite, and Nyx’s feet were too far away from the floor to reach it until he did. 

“You know where to find me,” Nyx said, and because he could never just shut up and leave it at that, he added, “but I get you’re drunk and I’m me, so no hard feelings if you’re glad you got a chance to avoid regret.” 

Cor kissed him again, and that was the greatest kiss Nyx had ever had, pressing him flush against the door, feet nowhere near the ground and the whole solid bulk of Cor trapped between his legs. 

“I don’t do regret,” Cor told him, barely a sullen mutter against his lips. “Give me your number, I’ll call you when I’m done.” 

He let Nyx down, then, surprisingly gently, and stood in place for the five minutes it took Nyx to hurry upstairs and dig out his phone from his bed. Cor didn’t even say anything, about the fact Nyx didn’t know what his own number was – there was no point, the only people who called him knew it already, and he never really used it because the only people who called him were with him almost always anyway. 

“That was quick,” Libertus told him, as they watched Cor walk out the door, back ramrod straight and strides long and purposeful. 

Nyx punched his arm, without even looking. 

* * *

He didn’t immediately go lie in bed, staring at his phone and waiting for it to ring. That would be stupid. 

He wasn’t stupid. 

He went to the bathroom first, and filled up the bathtub, and once he was deep in hot water, fingered the bruise of Cor’s fingers on his thigh. 

And maybe he kept his phone on the sink, while he did that, but that wasn’t stupid. 

Of course not. 

* * *

Nyx woke up the next morning with no missed calls in his phone history, and a pale, blooming lily painted on the back of his right hand. 

He laid on his back and raised his hand above his head, staring. He blinked and rubbed his eyes and still, it didn’t change. With infinite care, he traced the petals with his fingers, but he felt nothing but skin to the touch. He’d known, of course. Soulmarks were not tattoos. They weren’t paint. They were just ghosts of another on your skin, declaring to the world you’d found a match. And while it was true soulmarks were hopes, not shackles – the vines could dry and the flowers wither, and he’d sat many, many late nights, so late it might have been early morning instead, with Crowe curled under his arm, contemplating exactly what made that happen – it still meant something. People still expected them to be there, when they were figuring out relationships. Like a sign of progress, of time well spent. 

Nyx had never had them. 

Thirty years, and he’d given up on thinking it would happen. His soul was barren, he thought, years of flings and breakups, because what was the point of anything, if he didn’t have flowers to show for it. What was the point of him, if he wasn’t good enough for it. Except he was, now. He was. He remembered the taste of Cor’s mouth and the strength of his hands, and then he remembered him holding his hand, awkward and stubborn, and now there was a lily there, blooming in the shadow of Cor’s grip. 

He lost nearly a whole hour, lying there, trying to remember how to breathe without shuddering, holding his own hand and not knowing what to do. Then his phone chirped at him and Nyx fell off the bed trying to grab it. 

_We need to talk._

He stared at the message with a dry throat, and licked his lips when another came in, just as he was watching. 

_Stuck at work right now. I’ll call you later._

Nyx let out a stuttering breath and covered his face with his hands. 

_OK_ , he typed back, and didn’t give into the childish, frustrated urge to just bite his phone in frustration. 

* * *

Nyx wrapped bandages around his hand and told Selena he’d cut himself when she asked. 

He had, he thought, cut himself on something, but it was infinitely sharper than the straight razor he used to trim the sides of his head. She would be thrilled, if he showed her the truth. So would Libertus and Crowe. But he was scared to. He didn’t like being scared, it brought back memories of the war, made his stomach roll unpleasantly in his gut. 

They would be happy for him, he knew, but he didn’t want them to celebrate something that wasn’t even certain at this point. He couldn’t tell them, until he and Cor sat down and. Talked. 

So he went about his business as usual, pretending there was nothing amiss. He kept his phone on his pocket, the weight strange and unfamiliar, but it was worth it to feel it vibrate, every few hours, another four or five words for him to read. 

They weren’t even good words. The sort Nyx imagined someone could cling to. They weren’t promises or anything. Just a reminder Cor was still alive, out there, doing whatever it was he had been ordered to do. Though Nyx had spent most of that first morning using his phone, and searching for information about Cor. He’d felt like a creep about it, until he realized Cor was a lot more than just a nebulous name of some importance in the Crownsguard. 

He _was_ the Crownsguard. 

It was a lot to take in, honestly, and Nyx decided to deal with it the same way he dealt with anything that was too much in his life: by procrastinating it until he was forced to confront it. All he had was a flower on his hand, covered in bandages and uncertainty, and a string of one-liners that didn’t quite feel reassuring. 

It was fine. 

He’d survived the war, after all. He’d survived Insomnia. 

He’d survive this too. 

* * *

At the end of the week, just as his excuses for the bandages were starting to run thin, Cor sent him a message and invited him out for dinner. 

Nyx decided that was probably hopeful, but still couldn’t bring himself to tell his family about it. He wished, selfishly, that he could, if nothing else because he wanted Selena to talk him through the ridiculous thing he was about to do, like she always did. He wanted Libertus to promise to kick Cor’s teeth in, if he hurt Nyx. He wanted Crowe to poke at the flower – strangely bright despite its lack of color, lively and well – on his hand and retort that Lyra’s were prettier. 

Instead he put on his best clothes, realized he was too uncomfortable to walk, much less sit for hours in them, and immediately changed into the comfiest pair of pants he had, leather soft and well-worn, with the usual shirt and jacket he wore with them. If the evening went well, he supposed, Cor would only care about his clothes when it came time to drag him out of them. If the evening went to shit, at least he’d be comfortable when he got dumped. 

Libertus grumped when Nyx asked for the night off, but he didn’t ask him anything, considering he’d cornered him alone to tell him. Nyx left him behind to explain his absence, and reminded himself, no matter what, there was a reason he’d left home behind to support the surly git, and not just because his sister loved him. 

He followed the directions Cor gave him and found himself in quiet neighborhood that made him feel smart for his choice of clothes. The Citadel and the inner ring of the city, with its enormous skyscrapers – Nyx still remembered the first time he’d seen one of those and felt ridiculously small against its size – looked like a painted backdrop in the distance. The streets were instead full of small, quaint little houses, and the roads were barely wide enough for cars to go through. It seemed like an entirely different city – one he’d like a lot more, to be honest, without the bright lights everywhere and mobs of people moving like waves back and forth all the time – not quite the sort of quiet of sleepy Galahdian towns, but kin to it, somehow. 

Cor’s house fit in with the rest of the street: quiet and nondescript in a way that Nyx felt probably suited Cor just fine. He didn’t know, of course, because he’d come to realize, over the week, that they didn’t really know each other, for all they’d known each other for more than a year now. They talked about things that weren’t… them. They didn’t talk about the past – Cor was in the Crownsguard and Nyx had fought the war, in Galahd – but nothing else. He couldn’t just… assume things. Just because he had a lily on his hand, it didn’t mean he could peer into Cor’s head unobstructed. That was the whole point, really. They weren’t there yet. They might never get there. They just… had a chance. 

“Nyx,” Cor said, as he opened the door, but Nyx didn’t hear anything else he said, because right there on Cor’s left hand, perfect mirror of Nyx’s, was a bright red flower defiantly staring back at him. 

“Oh,” Nyx said, voice full of wonder, before he could stop himself, “they’re blood orchids.” 

Rivers of ink had been used to write treaties and dictionaries, about what one’s flowers said of their owner. And that was just in Galahd, where no one really spared the expense to write something down, if they didn’t think it worthwhile. He couldn’t even imagine what they’d say, in the mainland, considering their flair for dramatics and over complicated things. Nyx had always wanted to know, what his flowers were like. But he’d also long resigned himself to ignorance, because no one’s flowers grew on his skin, and that meant none of his grew on someone else’s. 

Until Cor. 

Cor who was looking at him with equal parts wariness and expectancy, standing at the threshold of his home, and whose own flower was hidden from view, covered up in bandages. 

“Sorry,” Nyx muttered, and felt silly and nervous and stupid, “I just-“ 

But then Cor reached out with his hands and grabbed his face. Nyx tilted forward with the motion and swallowed back a sigh when Cor kissed him. It wasn’t the same frantic need they’d shared, before. It tasted mostly of relief. 

“Come in,” Cor said, when they broke apart, quiet and deadpan as always, “I made dinner. We can talk over it.” 

Nyx swallowed hard and licked his lips and very pointedly did not crumble into anxiety on the spot. 

“That sounds lovely.” 

* * *

Dinner was lovely, actually. 

Food was nice and went well with the beer Nyx had brought, and despite Cor’s suggestion that they could figure things out while they ate, they ended up talking about nothing in particular. Cor’s home was sparse and small, but in a neat way that made it feel welcoming, rather than sterile. Cozy, almost. Nyx relaxed with each bite, and almost without meaning to, they were back to their usual pace in conversation, with Cor deadpanning and Nyx snarking. It was nice. 

“I was surprised,” Cor said, when they were done with the food, “when I found…” He gestured with his left hand, and then shrugged. “Not upset, just. Surprised.” 

Nyx considered telling him that he probably wasn’t as surprised as him, but there was something slightly off about Cor, something tense to him, that made him stop. 

“Why?” Nyx asked, hiding behind a glass. 

“I need to explain myself,” Cor said, frowning. “It’d be unfair to you, to let this continue otherwise.” He paused and looked at Nyx in the eye, unflinching but also vaguely hopeful. “I’d… like to continue this, but only if you’re amenable.” 

“I’m very amenable,” Nyx replied, without really stopping to think about it. 

It made Cor smile. 

“Let me show you something,” he said, standing up, “then you can make your choice.” 

Nyx wanted to ask what he meant – he suddenly wanted to ask a lot of things, he just hadn’t quite figured out where to start – but then Cor pulled the shirt over his head, and before Nyx could really appreciate the hard expanse of muscle that revealed, he turned around and bared his back for him to see. 

“Oh,” Nyx said, quiet and unsure, staring at the knotted vines trailing along his spine from the cluster of bluebells hanging on his left shoulder blade, like roots torn off the ground. 

They weren’t vibrant, he noted, not like his orchid on Cor’s skin, the color muted and faded. But the vines were still green and the flowers still blooming. It was like nothing Nyx had ever seen before. 

“When I was young, I met who I thought would be the love of my life,” Cor said, and Nyx was glad and terrified at once, that he was still facing the other way, because it meant neither of them had to look at each other in the eye when he did. “I loved her and she loved me, and we reckoned if we managed to survive the war, we might even figure out how not to kill each other and be together. It… didn’t happen that way. She married, soon after the war was over, and in time, bluebells bloomed on her husband. But they never withered on me, not even after she died.” Cor swallowed hard. “So I understand, I do, if you’d rather stop and pretend this never happened.” 

Nyx took a deep breath. Then another. 

“There’s a rite, in Galahd,” he said, and it wasn’t his answer, but it was an answer all the same, “to force the vines to entwine.” Nyx swallowed hard, and knew it was blasphemous taboo to even speak of this to someone who hadn’t earned beads during a Walk, much less someone not even born in Galahd, but he’d already committed or been accomplice to a good deal of taboos already. What was one more? “The night after a twentieth flower blooms, they go out, under the rain, and stab each other in the heart.” Cor’s spine stiffened, but he didn’t turn. Nyx was glad, he wasn’t sure he could keep talking with Cor actually looking at him. “It’s not a prickle or a… a farce. It’s death, for real. It forces the magic out, and if the bond is strong enough, it supports them. Heals them. Come morning, they’ll be bound, for life. Or dead.” Nyx swallowed hard. “Most end up dead. But it’s a gamble, and tradition, so they all do it. They have to. Twenty flowers take a long time to bloom, most people are very old when that happens, anyway, their children have children of their own. My sister and Libertus, they had eighteen flowers before she was twenty one. They were going to make them do it, too. My parents. His parents. The entire village, really. They were expecting it. Preparing for it.” Nyx licked his lips. “So we left, instead.” 

Nyx let out a sigh, and Cor stood there, waiting. 

“I’ve never had flowers before,” he said, voice soft, and it was terrifying to say, but if Cor wanted to tell him the truth and give him a shot at making an informed choice, then Nyx was going to bite the bullet and give him the truth right back. It was only fair. “But I’ve wanted them. And I’ve felt like a heel for that, over the years, because my sister has them, and look what they did to her. But I still wanted them.” He found himself smiling, awkward. “So yeah. I… I’d like to try, if you do. And if it goes well and we get to twenty, I can promise I won’t drag you out in the middle of the night and stab you under a thunderstorm just because that’s what people say I should do. And if it doesn’t go well. If it doesn’t go well, they’ll wither and we’ll move on and maybe one day we’ll still get to be friends. But I want to try, first. If you’ll have me.” 

Cor turned slowly, one hand perched on the backrest of his chair. The look he gave Nyx reminded him of that first time he’d seen him smile, in how underwhelming it was. It wasn’t soft, because all of Cor seemed to be carved marble, stern and strong. 

But. 

“I would,” he said, and that was quiet and solemn, and that was all that mattered. 

* * *

Cor’s bedroom was about as sparse as the rest of his home, though Nyx didn’t really get a chance to take a good look, stumbling into it as he did, chasing after Cor’s mouth. It was weird, how different it was, compared to that night in the storeroom. They had been frantic, then, like steam bottled up and desperately trying to escape through every tiny gap it found. Now it felt… languid, almost. Cor kissed him like he had an entire lifetime to figure it out, and despite the low throb of arousal echoing in his ears, Nyx couldn’t find it in himself to be pushy about it. 

They spent what felt like ages, tugging at clothes, even though Cor had never put his shirt back on. Then they were rolling into the bed, skin against skin, and Nyx thought he never wanted this to end. He could feel Cor’s cock, hard and hot against his thigh, and when Cor reached a hand between them, Nyx tugged his wrists up instead, brought his fingers to his mouth. He watched as Cor watched him, eyes half-lidded, waiting. Nyx licked his palm half because he wanted to, and half because he wanted to know what Cor would do: close his eyes and groan, sound low and deep, the sort that curled under his navel and made his toes clench on the fabric under them. 

“How do you…” Cor began, and then stopped, because Nyx had pressed his lips to the edges of the orchid on his hand, a little smug smile tugging at his lips. 

“I’d like you inside me,” Nyx said, because it was the truth, and because it made Cor groan that way again. “I’ve been wanting you inside me for long enough it might actually be humiliating to admit how long.” 

Cor swallowed hard, audible from so close, and let his lips twitch into that vague smile of his. 

“I can do that,” he murmured, and it was almost demure, if not for the fact Nyx still had his cock pressed up against him and could feel it twitch with how much he’d like to do that. 

They fumbled, a little, but there was a pulse of white hot something rolling in Nyx’s gut, and Cor kissed him again, when he slid in, so it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Then Cor started rolling his hips, slow like the sway of a boat on the sea, and Nyx hooked a knee around his thigh to brace himself against it and enjoy it as much as he could. 

“Don’t look at me like that, you asshole,” Nyx whispered, eyes half lidded and pupils blown wide, pressing a hand against the side of Cor’s face, framing it with the sprawling white lily on the back of his hand that seemed almost to glow in the weird half-light of the room. 

“Like how?” Cor asked, one eyebrow arched, easy like they were at the bar still, talking about traffic and the weather and the fact that sport season was coming, and not at all like he was rocking Nyx’s world to its core with each lazy roll of his hips. 

“Like it’ll really hurt when the lilies wither,” Nyx said, the tug behind his navel blooming into full-blown panic for the two seconds it took Cor to tilt his head sideways and press his mouth to his. 

Bastard. 

Nyx felt him come inside him, wet warmth boiling him inside out, and then whined before he could stop himself, because Cor pulled away after barely a few seconds to catch his breath. Then the whine turned into a needy, surprised noise he’d never known his throat could make, because Cor had crawled down the length of his body and wrapped his mouth around the head of his cock, hard and desperate and still not quite there yet. Then he was coming, three seconds flat, hands covering his face to try and hide a hysterical laugh. 

* * *

They procrastinated cleaning up by talking, much of the pent-up tension dissolved, as it were, by all the sticky bits slowly crusting on their skin. They talked about Galahd and the war and Insomnia and the Crownsguard, asking disconnected questions about each other and just letting their breathing set the rhythm of their words. Then Nyx rolled Cor onto his back and kissed him until he could sit himself on his cock again, and Cor let him, lying back boneless and docile under his hands. 

In the morning, Nyx woke up buried under the bulk of Cor’s solid frame, and found he was not at all interested in getting up. Much less when he realized there was a vine crawling up his wrist and another lily painted on the inside of his arm, right under the elbow. There was a matching orchid, on Cor’s arm, and Nyx woke him up by twisting around so he could press his mouth to it, feeling profoundly possessive of it, and not at all inclined to not show it. 

Cor coaxed him out of bed and into the bathroom, with kisses and trailing fingers, and Nyx went along with it, because Cor fucked him under the spray and worried the back of his neck with his fangs. 

It was great. 

* * *

“Had a nice night?” Libertus asked, taunting, as Nyx walked into the little kitchen in their apartment, “took your time this tim-” 

But then he looked up, and Nyx was wearing his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and probably the stupidest grin in the world, plastered all over his face. 

“It was wonderful, thank you,” he said, and only half meant it as teasing, laughing when Libertus spluttered and hollered for Selena and Crowe to come see what he’d done. 

**Author's Note:**

> The wonderful, wonderful Zayn did some fantastic art for this story. You can find his gorgeous stuff [here](https://zva-redink.dreamwidth.org/1710.html). Check out his stuff and look out for commissions, his art is truly worth every penny.
> 
> Come hang out on [DW](https://notavodkashot.dreamwidth.org/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/notavodkashot), if you'd like.


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